


Paradise Revisited

by left_to_write



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left_to_write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camille gets a surprise when she travels to England to visit Richard's grave six months after the stabbing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> This short piece will not be a sad one. I really wrote it for myself because I couldn't stand the TV version of events, and this is closer to what I would have liked to have seen. I hope people won't mind yet another variation on a theme.

 

 

The early autumn air was unseasonably cool and breezy as Camille Bordey alighted from the taxi at the entrance to the small cemetery on the outskirts of London. Some six months after the horrific events at the holiday villa on Sainte Marie where her beloved boss and friend, Richard Poole, had been cruelly stabbed with an ice pick wielded by a supposed friend, she had finally travelled to England to pay her posthumous respects and to see his last resting place.

Making her way to the row of headstones where she had been told she would find Richard's, she paused first to take a deep breath and try to prepare herself for the grief that would undoubtedly overtake her again. When she felt as ready as she would ever be to gaze at the plaque that indicated the final resting spot of his mortal remains, she opened her eyes and took it in.

The headstone was a bit smaller than she had expected but it was of beautiful white marble, perfectly - and evenly - engraved _(Richard would have approved of that - very tidy and straight)_ , and the overall effect was one of elegance and simplicity. Well, at least his parents had good taste when it came to this, she thought.

The writing on the plaque was brief and to the point: _Richard Poole_ _, Beloved Son of William and Elizabeth Poole, Born 24th February 1970, Departed 15th March 2013._

Camille closed her eyes as the tears that had been welling up blurred her vision. She could hardly bear to see the word 'departed' (she hated that euphemism, although she supposed it sounded less brutal than 'died'). As for the date - well, what a terrible irony that the 'ides of March' should commemorate another infamous stabbing by a so-called friend [or many 'friends', as in the case of Julius Caesar].

Memories came flooding back to her but so, unfortunately, did guilt. In truth, no guilt or blame could justifiably be attached to her regarding Richard's murder, but even such a negative, self-punishing emotion was preferable to the ache of emptiness that kept threatening to engulf her at times.

_I'm so sorry, Richard. If only I had gone with you to that house; if only we had got there sooner; if only I had been a better friend/colleague, you might have felt able to confide your suspicions and concerns to me in the first place..._

_If only, if only....._  

Life is full of 'if onlys', she thought bitterly, realising too late how deeply she had grown to love the often pedantic, but nevertheless brilliant and always generous, Inspector from England. She hoped that he had started to have feelings for her too, but she supposed she would never really know, and that hurt almost as much as losing him.

Her tears were flowing freely now as she bowed her head before his grave and said a whispered farewell to the man she had secretly loved but rather publicly (and prematurely) lost.

She pulled her coat tighter around her as the chill of the autumn air and the sense of painful finality sent a shiver through her. She had been determined to make this journey - both geographical and emotional - and she was glad that she had. But now she wanted to go; this was not the way she wanted to remember Richard.

As she turned to leave, glancing one last time at his headstone, she was aware of the quietness of the place. It didn't seem so much peaceful as somewhat lonely or deserted, even though it was a relatively open and well-tended site, an attractive (as these things go) and extended graveyard in the grounds of a local suburban church.

Was it her imagination or was someone else there, someone she couldn't actually see but who seemed to be around - hidden, perhaps, behind a large headstone or a shrub or tree? Was she being watched?

 _Now you're being paranoid, girl. It's this place, it's getting to you. Go home, back to your (once) happy memories in the land of the living,_ she commanded herself.

She quickened her pace and headed for the way out, but as she passed the oak tree that stood near one edge of the graveyard, a figure stepped out from behind it and called out her name.

Gasping with surprise that there was someone there after all - someone who obviously had known who she was - and startled by his unexpected proximity, Camille looked up into the face of the person with the eerily familiar voice - and fainted. For there, in the flesh, was the unmistakeable form of Richard Poole. And he was very much alive.

 

As a result of the injury he had sustained on Sainte Marie during the attempt on his life by Helen Reid, Richard winced with residual pain as he did his best to catch a swooning Camille. Although several months had elapsed since the violent attack, during which time he had received the best possible medical care and attention in the Caribbean and then the US before being eventually transported back to the UK by air ambulance (courtesy of the Metropolitan Police Force) to convalesce, his chest was understandably still tender from the wound he had sustained, and from the subsequent surgery.

Essentially out of action for the first three months after the stabbing, Richard had been intending to make contact with Camille as soon as he was strong enough, but her surprise visit had pre-empted his communication and he just hoped she wouldn't cause further injury by pummelling his chest in anger once she recovered her senses. He had spent much of his convalescence thinking about her, but now he wondered if she would be able to forgive him for not getting in touch sooner to let her and the boys know that he had survived, albeit only just.

One of the most significant things Richard had discovered about having such a close brush with death was that priorities were often changed and attitudes to life re-examined. It shocked him to think that he had very nearly gone to his grave without having told the woman he loved how he had felt about her.

And although he may have been emotionally repressed and introverted, he was not a complete ignoramus. He had known deep down the night of the 'almost' hurricane that Camille had been trying to open her heart to him, even if he had been too insecure to acknowledge it (to her) or admit it (to himself), or too shy and embarrassed to know how to handle it. Yes, it was definitely possible that she'd had real feelings for him and so would have been extremely upset at his apparent death.

_If only I'd sent that letter last month after all._

He had started composing a letter of explanation to her, but had kept tearing it up and re-writing it when, much to his frustration, the perfectionist in him felt he just couldn't get the words right. Then, once he had heard she was coming to London - and unwilling to bear any more time apart from her - he chose to face her in person first and hope she would understand and forgive.

 

"Camille? Please, it's alright. It's me, Richard. I'm not a ghost, I promise; I really am alive. Camille? Please...wake up..." There was much vigorous hand waving in front of her face as Richard sat on the ground cradling and speaking tenderly - though somewhat anxiously - to Camille who, at last, began to come out of her faint and murmur his name.

"Richard?" she breathed, incredulous. "How can it be? I _saw_ you....with..." Tearful eyes looked up at him with a mixture of grief and bewilderment.

"The ice pick missed my heart by centimetres...perhaps millimetres. I'll tell you everything, I promise, but let's get up off this cold ground and go somewhere warm, okay? Please?"

"Why didn't you let us know, Richard? We were devastated and everyone's still feeling utterly bereft back home. Dwayne and Fidel have been going around with sad faces for months, and even _Maman_  is quieter and more subdued these days."

"I'm so sorry, Camille. I was going to tell you soon, honestly. I started to write so many times, but just couldn't seem to say it properly."

"Okay, tell me the rest later." Camille was feeling decidedly shivery and wanted to get indoors too. "Where can we go?" she added.

"The Met organised a decent house for me to rent not far from here. My own house in Croydon has been rented out for the last couple of years while I was in Sainte Marie, so they found me a different one. We can be there quite quickly, if that's alright."

Walking with arms linked together, Richard hailed a conveniently approaching cab and they climbed in. It wouldn't have been a particularly long walk, but Camille was still shaky from the shock she'd had, and Richard didn't yet feel physically up to supporting her very well if she were to stumble or pass out again.

 

Once in the comfortable little rented house, they sat on the living room sofa sipping drinks (a much needed brandy for Camille, and the usual beer for him) and talking at length.

Camille opened the subject first.

"Richard, how on earth could we all - including the paramedics on the scene - have believed you were dead if you weren't? Was it all a fake or something? And don't tell me you were covered in red paint, because I know blood when I see it."

"No, Camille, I really had been stabbed by that damned ice pick. I don't actually remember much about it apart from speaking to Sasha/Helen one moment, and then waking up in a hospital somewhere the next, but I was later told that although the paramedics did indeed think I was dead at the scene, they found a very faint pulse in the ambulance and worked like Trojans to save me.

"The doctors then informed the Commissioner who quickly contacted the Met and God only knows who else, and a lightning decision was taken to shut me off in a securely guarded hospital wing and let everyone think I really had died, because at that stage they didn't know what they were dealing with. There was a possibility of some sort of contract/hit on me and they didn't want to take any chances that the killer might try again if word got out that I had survived."

"But they sent a replacement detective out from London - Humphrey Goodman - to take your place and to investigate your murder!" Camille exclaimed. "And he solved it!"

"Yes, but they weren't playing games, Camille. After all, I was still on the critical list and could have died at any moment in those early days. They wanted to find out who was behind the attack, whether I lived or died. If it turned out that it was a hit from some organised crime agency, well then they'd have had to expand the investigation, but to begin with, sending out another detective - one with a good track record - seemed like the best place to start."

"And the Commissioner knew all along?"

"Yes, but the Met swore him to secrecy. They weren't to know at the time that there was no great international conspiracy, no contracts, or crime lords, or terrorists, or whatever. Not even a Doug Anderson-ordered revenge hit. They put DI Goodman in place because they genuinely expected me to either die or remain incapacitated, and they wanted another detective out there to pick up the pieces and to carry on with the job in general where I had left off. If he could figure out who attacked me, then even better, because I was unable to speak or remember anything."

"Well, now _he's_ our Chief and you're here in England. I know that Humphrey is a good detective too, but it's not the same without you. We've missed you, Richard. _I've_ missed you." Camille bit her lip and fought back the tears.

Richard gently reached out and touched her hand, which she let him hold.

"I've missed you too, Camille. I've missed all of you, but especially..." Shyness overcame him again, even though his near-death experience had given him a determination to be more emotionally open.

"What about your poor parents? I had to phone your mother the day after...it happened. Did they know you weren't really dead?"

"Yes, after a few days. The Met had to tell them, of course, but they asked them to keep it top secret for my own safety, in case there was an 'assassin' still out to get me. Obviously, they complied and went through the charade of a funeral and burial. It would have been awful for them if they'd had to go through it again for real."

Camille smiled ruefully. "Is that it, then? We're stuck with the current status quo? Don't get me wrong, Richard, I thank God you're alive, but you're four thousand miles away from us!" she protested.

Then she added, "I suppose you must be glad to have a reason to stay in England, even if it was a horrible one? They can't force you to go back now, can they?" She didn't even try to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Actually," Richard replied softly, "that was another thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"What do you mean?" asked Camille, hardly daring to hope he might say he would come back to Sainte Marie.

"They've given me a choice, Camille. I can start work back on Sainte Marie in the new year if I wish, or I can go back to working for the Met here, or I can just retire on health grounds if I prefer. Obviously, the last option is out of the question as far as I'm concerned, so it's a matter of either you all having me back or my staying here. I just have to give them two months' notice, whatever I decide. The Commissioner will accept either choice."

Camille's eyes brightened more than they had done since before the 'incident', and she didn't care that her expression was giving away her feelings.

"Oh Richard," she exclaimed, "you must know what I would like, but it has to be your decision. I remember you found it hot and full of sand and bugs - _oh no, what am I doing?_ I don't want to talk you out of it!"

Richard chuckled. "I well remember the heat and the sand, but I did get more used to them as time went on, actually. Anyway, it would be worth it to be back together with the best team I ever had. You were fantastic. And who knows, I might even splash out on some air conditioning!"

"So, you'll do it?! You'll return to Sainte Marie and Honore?! You'll be our Chief again?!" Camille impulsively threw her arms around Richard and he smiled with delight, even as he winced slightly from the discomfort of being hugged. "Oh sorry, I just forgot you're still a bit sore," apologised Camille.

"That's okay," smiled Richard placidly. "I'll come back if you think the lads would be happy with that. I gather DI Goodman is alright - living up to his name?"

"Oh Richard, he _is_ a nice man and a good detective, if hopelessly disorganised and untidy. But he's not _you_. You are too hard an act to follow."

Richard coloured a bit at the compliment. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. You know," he said somewhat diffidently, "you'd be a pretty hard act to follow, yourself. I doubt I'd get as special a partner as you at the Met."

"What about Humphrey, though? What will they do with him? After all, it's not his fault all this happened." In spite of her clear preference for Richard, Camille felt a pang of sympathy and regret for his successor.

"It's almost certain that the Commissioner will be able to get him a good posting somewhere else in the Caribbean if he wants to stay out there. Otherwise, he can come back to the Met, no question about that," Richard reassured her.

 

The conversation went on in the same vein for a while longer until Richard asked if Camille would like to get something to eat. She suddenly realised she was hungry as soon as the suggestion was put in her mind, and she told him she'd been planning on eating at her hotel.

"Why don't you join me, if you're free? By the way, how did you know I was coming to London and that I'd be here today?" she finally thought to inquire.

Richard smiled. "The Commissioner got in touch and told me you were coming and that you'd be arriving yesterday. I staked out the graveyard for the last two days, hoping you might turn up, and I got lucky."

"So, where do you want to go now? To my hotel?" She suddenly realised how that might have sounded and blushed a little.

Richard blushed too (as usual), but answered evenly, "Okay, if you're happy with that. I've heard the food is quite decent there."

"You mean you even know where I'm staying?" Camille was nonplussed.

"Yeah, sorry. The Commissioner thought I might like to know in case I felt it 'appropriate' to contact you," he confessed.

She shook her head. "Crikey, that man is wily. I bet he's been manoeuvring to get you back to Sainte Marie all along, as soon as he knew you had recovered and would be well enough to work again."

"Maybe, although apparently he's not at all unhappy with his new Inspector."

"True, but he's probably noticed that there isn't the same spark we had when you were leading us. I guess the crime clear up rate has been about the same, but the atmosphere is changed. Even the folks in town seem less carefree and jovial. I think they're still in shock over what happened to you, especially since everyone apart from Patterson naturally assumed you were dead."

"Would you mind being the one to tell everyone that, as the saying goes, 'reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated'? I won't be able to go back until the new year, at least not in my official capacity."

An idea struck Camille. "What about unofficially? Couldn't you still go back to Sainte Marie  _before_ you resume your post if you wanted to, and/or were well enough?"

"It's possible, but I'd have to find somewhere to stay for the time being. The beach house is the accommodation of the Chief in residence, isn't it? First DI Hulme, then me, now DI Goodman. I can't just go back and ask to have him kicked out early because I've arrived ahead of schedule."

"You could stay with - " Camille blushed again. She knew it was not an idea that would fly, but she just blurted it out.

Richard smiled appreciatively. "Well, we can talk about that later. Let's go into town and get that bite to eat at your hotel, shall we? I'm afraid I haven't got round to doing any shopping these past couple of days - too busy watching out for a certain French lady I used to know."

"Ah, so you have well and truly been stalking me?"

"Absolutely."

The old banter was beginning to return between the once separated colleagues and friends, and it warmed both their hearts.

 

Sitting in the small dining room of Camille's modest, yet comfortable, hotel, they resumed their conversation.

"Don't you think the Commissioner should have told us - and Humphrey - by now, Richard? I mean, fair enough that at the beginning everything had to be hush-hush, but once it was confirmed that there was no conspiracy, no remaining lurking danger to you, surely we could have been told the truth?"

Richard sighed. "I know, and you do have a point. It's partly my fault, I have to admit, because I asked that I be the first one to break the news. And then I just couldn't get the words out properly, so I kept procrastinating.

"But they were also waiting for me to decide whether or not I was going back to Sainte Marie because they didn't want anyone there to contact me and perhaps try to influence my decision one way or the other. And they didn't think it would be fair on Humphrey Goodman to leave him in limbo while I was still making up my mind.

"Also, all of this needs to be cleared with the doctor(s) - I'll need medical approval certifying that I'm fit enough to return to active service, particularly in such a different climate."

"Okay, I guess I can understand," Camille conceded.

"Anyway, enough about me, what about you? How have you been?" asked Richard.

"Well, as you see, I have survived, but to be honest, it's been very empty without you, like I said earlier. We all go through the motions because we have to, but we've sort of lost the heart and soul in our work."

"And on the personal front, if you don't mind my asking?" he ventured.

Camille raised her eyebrows. "The personal front?"

"Yes...um...any decent blind dates recently, ha?" Richard guffawed awkwardly.

"For pity's sake, Richard, why would I be going on blind dates after what happened?!"

Richard gulped. Camille was looking at him with that exasperated/annoyed expression he remembered well, and he felt like a chastened schoolboy again.

"Sorry...um...just trying to lighten the conversation a bit... you know..." And there he was again, the tongue-tied Richard Poole that she had grown to love and had so desperately missed. Camille relented and smiled.

"It's okay. To answer your question, no, I haven't been on any dates of any kind whatsoever, and I haven't wanted to even look at another man either, if you must know."

Richard looked pleasantly surprised. "Oh? Um, that's nice..."

Camille changed the subject. "When do you see the doctor again to get the all-clear? And if you do get it soon, how about considering coming back to Sainte Marie before Christmas? Everyone would be thrilled to have you back, truly."

"I've got an appointment at the end of the month, and then another one towards the end of October. If I'm declared fit for purpose, I'm obliged to let both the Met and the Commissioner know my decision by the 1st of November."

"And you will be fit, won't you?" Camille asked, somewhat anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I will be. After all, it's been six months now and by the beginning of January it will have been nearly 10 months. I genuinely do make progress every week, so I think I am on course for a full recovery, thank God. By the way, when exactly do you fly back?"

"I thought you knew my every move, Inspector Poole?" she answered teasingly.

"Not quite, Sergeant Bordey. I knew when you were arriving, but not precisely when you were departing."

"I'm only here for a week, actually. I came to pay my respects to your...ahem...grave, and then I was planning to spend a couple of days with some old friends in Paris. But I don't have to go there..." she tailed off wistfully.

"Well, I wouldn't want to ruin your plans, Camille. Seriously."

"Why don't you come with me, Richard? I'm sure Brigitte and Michel would be able to put you up. They have a large enough house, after all. And you could meet some other friends too..." she enthused.

Richard shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Camille, but I'm not quite up to that yet. But you go and have a good time. If you get the chance to see me when you're back in London, that would be nice. We could have coffee or lunch before you go home."

Camille looked crestfallen. Having just got the love of her life back from the dead, as it were, she didn't feel like letting him go again so readily, even if only for a few days or weeks.

"Richard...I...I don't want to leave you."

"What about your friends in Paris? I expect it's been a while since you've seen any of them."

"I know, but you're...you're my best friend, Richard. I thought I'd lost you forever and..." her eyes began to fill afresh.

He took her hand again. "Thank you. You're _my_ best friend too, Camille. Um...when I was recovering in the hospital in Florida for the few weeks before they flew me home, I kept dreaming about Sainte Marie...and about you. And then, when I got back here I started to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, apart from just being a policeman (assuming I would even be well enough for that one day). Life seemed a pretty empty prospect without...you know...um...someone special to share it with.

"They told me you cried out in anguish when you and the lads discovered me that day. I felt sad, of course, but it gave me hope, Camille. Hope that perhaps you...?"

"Yes, Richard, I do."

"Thank God," he said softly as he squeezed her hand.

 

It was nearly the end of September and Camille was back on Sainte Marie spreading the good news to a stunned but overjoyed Dwayne and Fidel. She then told her mother who in turn told the rest of the island.

Meanwhile, at virtually the same time that Camille was telling an ecstatic Dwayne and Fidel, the Commissioner finally saw fit to brief Humphrey Goodman on the situation. By a stroke of good fortune, Humphrey was not overly disappointed or miffed, because his wife, Sally, who had regarded Sainte Marie as a bit of a 'backwater', and would only deign to come out occasionally, was delighted at the prospect of a much cushier life on Guadeloupe. The people, shops and houses there seemed to her far more glamorous, and she expected to benefit from all of the above. It was a win-win situation.

Richard received his clearance for return to police duties from all the medics concerned, and chose to join Camille and the others on Sainte Marie just after Christmas. He felt it only right to spend the holidays with his parents, but two days after Boxing Day, he flew out to the Caribbean and was met at the airport by a grinning Commissioner and an excited Camille, who had been allowed to accompany him.

Expecting to settle back into the little beach house he had lived in before, he was informed that it had sustained fairly heavy hurricane damage and was closed for extensive repairs. (Amazingly, Harry had been found and rescued). So they had rented Richard a suitable small villa, and he was content with that when he saw it. It was sparkling clean (an absolute essential - the doctors had insisted) and had good, reliable plumbing and electricity.

The reunion with Dwayne and Fidel was an emotional one, and Richard kept pretending he'd got sand in his eyes every time they started to well up. Dwayne smiled knowingly and Fidel beamed with happiness.

"Oh Sir, we can't tell you how thrilled we are to see you again - and to have you back here!" exclaimed Fidel.

"It just wasn't the same without you," added Dwayne.

Humphrey, by this time, was settling into his new job on Guadeloupe and was also enjoying an improvement in his marriage as his wife was now much less whingey and a lot more satisfied generally. Therefore, it wasn't as if he could have overheard the boys' words to Richard and been hurt by them. Anyway, they had liked him well enough, he just wasn't Richard, full stop.

Catherine greeted him with a hug and the traditional Frenchpeck on both cheeks. She also smiled with understanding, not remotely surprised that her daughter and the reserved, but remarkable, Englishman would be together now, for better or for worse.

 

Four months later, a radiant Camille walked down the aisle of Father Charles's church on the arm of a beaming Dwayne Myers. The look in Richard's eyes as he watched the woman he loved more than life, assured her that there was absolutely no doubt she was doing the right thing. Fidel was best man, and Catherine looked elegant as mother of the bride. Richard was inwardly relieved that she had left her Bohemian genie-in-the-lamp outfit at home, and was wearing a more conventional dress and hat.

Commissioner Patterson and his wife were honoured guests, as were Humphrey and Sally Goodman and various other friends of Camille.

The groom's parents made a special trip out to the tropics for their boy's big day, and in spite of the endless fussing to which his Mum had subjected his Dad back home, they seemed to fit in surprisingly well.

The marriage ceremony went without a hitch and the reception at the Bay Cove Hotel was a success too. In short, a good time was had by all.

 

Later that night, in the bridal suite of Barbados' finest hotel, Richard made a confession to Camille.

"Um, darling....I have something to tell you."

This, of course, aroused her curiosity. "What is it?"

"I...uh...got a call from my solicitor the other week, and he said that the compensation claim he had filed on my behalf against Helen and James Moore has been settled. They finally pleaded guilty to charges of fraud; identity theft; conspiracy to defraud the Inland Revenue (Sasha's estate will have been subject to death duties); attempted murder (in Helen's case); being an accessory to murder (in James's case); and perverting the course of justice. They will go away for a long time.

"Meanwhile, their lawyers have also settled a civil suit with mine, and the estate to which they are _not_ entitled because under English law no one is permitted to profit from their own crime, is paying 40% in taxes, and awarding me substantial damages in compensation for my injuries. My solicitor had been pursuing the case for months.

"The bottom line, Camille, is that your husband is about to be the recipient of nearly four million pounds." Richard let that sink in.

Camille gasped, and then waited for the anticipated remark saying it was just a joke. But it never came because Richard was absolutely serious.

"Before you get too excited, though, I have to tell you that I don't intend to keep it all. I am going to insist that Humphrey accept a generous gift since he did solve my 'murder', thereby allowing me to recuperate in peace back in England, and eventually resume a normal life without having to spend the rest of it looking over my shoulder.

"I'm also going to make a special endowment to the hospital here in Sainte Marie that saved my life; and a portion to the Met's Widows and Orphans Fund. If you're in agreement, I would also like to propose donating a sizeable share to the local Civic Charitable Trust here on Sainte Marie to assist those of limited resources in of need a helping hand. And a fair bit has to be put aside for my parents in case they ever require nursing care.

"That still leaves a very tidy sum for us; a never-ending supply of mangoes for Harry; and plenty left over to support those children you want - "

"We _both_ want," Camille interrupted with feigned indignation.

"Okay, that we both want," conceded Richard good humouredly. "Anyway, as I was saying, it means we could also help out your mother with the business at La Kaz if you think that's a good idea. I'll let you be the judge of that, though."

Camille's head was spinning by now. "Wow Richard, you really know how to spring surprises on people! First you die, but not really, then you tell me you're a tycoon?!"

"Oh hardly, Camille. But I would love to buy you - sorry, _us_ \- a really nice house here with a swimming pool for keeping cool and maybe even air-conditioning! And Dwayne and Fidel and his family can come over whenever they like, to use the pool or just hang out and lime. What do you think?"

"Richard...I can hardly take it all in. Why didn't you tell me all this before now?"

"Well," he replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "I didn't want you marrying me for my money."

 

 


End file.
